Banished
by Aini NuFire
Summary: Using a banishing sigil on an injured angel could end up killing them. So what happens when a wounded Cas ends up caught in the crossfire? S12 Cas!whump, BMoL
1. Part I

**A/N: This was originally supposed to be a simple one shot with whump and no plot. Instead it turned into something somewhere between a whumpy one shot with no plot and…kinda plotty. Erm. So I'll be posting it in two parts. Apologies for the inevitable cliffhanger. ;P**

 **Takes place after 12x11 "Regarding Dean" but before the feels of 12x12.**

 **Disclaimer: Not mine. Thanks to 29Pieces for the invaluable help and beta reading as always! ^_^**

* * *

 **"** **Banished** **"**

 **Part I**

Castiel frowned at the news article he was currently reading on Sam's laptop. He was supposed to be looking for Kelly Kline, but the story of recent murders in Draxton, Nebraska had captured his attention, particularly since one was described as the victim having been burned from the inside out. The others were stabbing attacks: swift, efficient kills from what it sounded like.

And that, in turn, sounded like an angel. But why would an angel be on a killing spree like this? Unless it was slaying demons. Not many of Castiel's brethren maintained their divine mandate to protect humanity, though surely there were still some. If demons were congregating in that town, then Castiel should investigate. This other angel might need help thwarting whatever evil plot was underway.

But if that wasn't the case…if an angel was ruthlessly killing humans…well, Castiel didn't want to think about that just yet.

The front door grated open, and two pairs of footsteps clomped down the stairs, Dean with a bag of take-out and Sam in his running clothes, as both had apparently returned from their individual errands at the same time.

"Hey, Cas," Sam greeted. "Any word on Kelly?"

"Unfortunately, no," he replied, turning in his chair to face them. "But I believe I found a case that warrants looking into." He slid the laptop across the map table so they could see.

"Yeah, alright," Dean said after a moment of reading. "What are you thinking? Rogue angel?"

Castiel tried to hold back a sigh. He understood why that was Dean's first conclusion—Castiel had considered it, himself, after all. But he hated to automatically lump all angels into the category of "bad" just because the Winchesters hadn't necessarily had good experiences with any of his brothers.

"I don't know. It might be the victims were possessed by demons and an angel has been engaging in battle with them. I think it would be best to find out."

"Yeah, definitely," Sam agreed, leaning over and still scrolling through the article.

"Angel radio not telling you anything?" Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head regretfully. "I have not been privy to most communications since Lucifer. Benjamin was a rare exception, and only because he was desperate." Otherwise, Castiel had been more or less cut off from his brothers.

"Oh." Dean shrugged. "Then I guess we'll see when we get there."

Castiel felt a small knot of tension in his chest come loose. He had been very careful with his wording, not making any assumptions just because Sam and Dean had been ready and willing to accompany him on personal missions lately. Besides, Dean didn't like dealing with angels.

But the Winchesters had accepted the case as their own, which made a tiny balloon of warmth, born of unwavering support, blossom inside Castiel. Though he was perfectly capable of handling things on his own—as he'd so often done in the past—it was nice, not having to need to.

* * *

Draxton, Nebraska was only a couple of hours from Lebanon, and they arrived that same day, heading to the morgue first so Castiel could determine if the deaths were truly angel kills since only one had been burned. Castiel didn't bother pulling out his fake badge, leaving that to the Winchesters to handle with the coroner to gain admittance. They were better at it than he was, anyway.

The victims were all laid out on slabs, five in a row. Two women, including the one who'd been burned, and three men. Castiel frowned as he studied them.

"Definitely looks like it could be from an angel blade," Sam said as he leaned over to inspect one of the wounds more closely.

"I'm not smelling any sulfur, though," Dean put in. "Doesn't look like these guys were demons."

"One was," Castiel informed them, standing at the head of the one victim whose eyes were nothing more than burned out cavities.

"The first vic?" Sam clarified, moving closer to get a whiff himself.

"Yes," Castiel confirmed. It did not, however, give him any satisfaction, because it meant the other victims had been human. Castiel's jaw tightened; he hadn't wanted this to be a case of a rogue angel, a case of another brother Castiel would have no choice but to kill.

Sam's mouth was pressed into a thin line, while Dean didn't look all that surprised.

"Maybe these people made demon deals," the younger Winchester hypothesized. "Would- would the angel think that killing them would somehow break those deals so their souls could go to Heaven?"

Castiel could tell by the tenor of his voice that Sam didn't truly believe the theory he was positing, which meant it was more for Castiel's benefit. He appreciated the effort, at least.

"I don't know," he said, because he didn't. Killing the demon who struck the deals wouldn't nullify Hell's contract, but reaping the humans before they could enjoy whatever rewards they'd bargained away their souls for? Perhaps it was a loophole that could be exploited.

"Look, I'm not pro-sending people to Hell," Dean said. "But we can't exactly let this guy continue going around killing everyone who was stupid enough to sell their soul in the first place."

"Perhaps I can convince him or her to return to Heaven," Castiel responded. "They probably think they're doing good. If we can just talk to them…"

Dean snorted, which earned a pointed look from Sam. Castiel's mouth turned down. It was no more consideration than they had insisted on giving Lily Sunder when she'd been murdering angels.

Sam turned to Castiel. "So how do we find them?"

"I could try reaching out," he said. "A broad message sent over angel radio asking the angel in Draxton County to meet with me."

"And if they're not a fan?" Dean brought up.

"I won't be alone." And he wouldn't, not this time. Though he would appreciate it if the Winchesters could _wait_ in the car when asked to…

The door opened and the coroner stuck his head in. "Sheriff called. There's been another stabbing."

Castiel's heart fell. They needed to catch up to this angel soon.

"We'll be right there," Dean said, then turned and lowered his voice to Castiel. "Hold off on the broadcast until we take a look. Maybe we can track this guy down the old fashioned way without having to paint a neon target on your back."

Castiel wanted to argue that was not what he would be doing…but announcing his location like that on a wide channel _could_ potentially draw unwanted attention. With grim resignation, he followed Sam and Dean as they headed out to the Impala to drive to the latest crime scene.

This time there was a witness. Castiel only half-listened to the description of a blond woman in a dark turtleneck and raincoat who had stumbled out of the park's restrooms and into a man walking his bicycle. She'd instantly attacked him, "crazed," the witness said, before running off into the woods.

Castiel swept his gaze over the body, sprawled between the bathrooms and the dumpsters, a stab wound directly through the heart. The kill had been brutal and swift, just like the others. But there was no trace of sulfur, nothing to explain why an angel would have attacked this human. Castiel strained his senses further, trying desperately to glean some hint of what had happened.

He spotted a few drops of blood several feet away from the body, past the dumpsters and leading toward the woods where the witness said the attacker had fled. Frowning, Castiel wove between the crime scene investigators and went to squat down and examine it. There were traces of grace in the blood. So the angel was wounded? Surely not from a fight with this human, or the others, as they would have had no way to harm an angel down to its true form. Perhaps it was from the encounter with the first victim, which was a confirmed demon.

There was something else about the blood, though, something that made it seem darker and more coagulated than it should be. Castiel dipped his finger in it, and immediately sucked in a sharp breath as it burned. He hastily wiped it off on a broken-down cardboard box.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" someone shouted.

Castiel jerked his gaze over his shoulder to see the sheriff storming forward, Sam and Dean trailing behind.

"Did you just disturb the crime scene?" the sheriff demanded.

Castiel stood quickly. "Barbecue sauce," he said, and swept past the blustering man without further explanation. He'd seen enough.

He heard the hurried footsteps of Sam and Dean hastening to catch up as Castiel strode back to the Impala.

"What's going on, Cas?" Dean asked once they were away from the crime scene. "I'm betting it wasn't 'barbecue sauce' that had you looking ready to puke."

Castiel shook his head; his stomach was still churning from what he'd detected in the angel's blood. "This is worse than I feared," he said.

Dean's expression hardened guardedly. "Why?"

"Uh, guys," Sam said before Castiel could answer, nodding to something across the parking lot.

Castiel and Dean both turned, and Castiel stiffened at the sight of Arthur Ketch standing next to a black motorcycle and watching them.

"Great," Dean muttered. "What the hell is he doing here?"

Castiel had a sinking suspicion that it was for the same thing they were here for.

The Winchesters exchanged pinched looks, but nevertheless went over to meet the British Man of Letters. Castiel followed.

"Afternoon, lads," Ketch greeted. "It seems we've both stumbled onto the same case."

"Seems so," Sam replied stiffly.

Ketch eyed the three of them sapiently when none of them said anything more, gaze lingering on Castiel a moment longer than the Winchesters. "I assume you've deduced that an angel is behind it," he said. "Now, normally the Men of Letters don't get entangled with angelic affairs, as they know how to conduct their business discreetly. But this one is making a rather big—and public—mess."

"It's not that simple," Castiel interjected, bristling at the implied threat in Ketch's statement.

The British Man of Letters arched a dubious brow at him. "Are you defending the angel's actions of killing humans?"

"That's not what he said," Sam rejoined.

"And the angel isn't intentionally killing people," Castiel added.

Dean had been glaring sternly at Ketch, but his expression shifted to surprise and he turned to Castiel with raised brows. "Uh, you want to explain that?"

"The angel is wounded," Castiel said. "And I sensed hellhound venom in the blood it left behind at this crime scene."

"Barbecue sauce," Dean murmured. "Wait, hellhound venom? That's a thing?"

"Hellhound saliva," Castiel amended. "It's poisonous to angels. I suspect that when this one fought and killed the first victim, the demon, that a hellhound had been present and managed to bite them. This angel is injured, weakened. These other kills are just instinctive, a means of self-defense."

"Self-defense from harmless humans," Ketch put in snidely.

Castiel narrowed his eyes. "They're likely suffering from delirium and don't know that the humans aren't a threat."

Sam let out an audible breath. "Okay, so we have to find this angel and somehow help. Is there a cure?"

"The venom isn't usually fatal," Castiel replied. "Unless the angel is bitten multiple times. It should work its way out of their system eventually."

"And in the meantime it will continue to kill anyone it deems a threat and risk exposure of the supernatural," Ketch said. "That can't be allowed, no matter the reasons behind it."

"Look," Dean snapped, "we're handling this. So why don't you go find something else to kill."

Ketch rolled his eyes. "Your approach is misguided at best. However, you have the lead here. And it would be foolish not to accept the aid of additional resources."

Dean eyed Ketch shrewdly. "You know where the angel is, don't you?"

Ketch's mouth twitched smugly. "Satellite images captured a figure running north through the woods. There's a farm up that way, really the only place one might conceal themselves."

Castiel turned to the Winchesters urgently. "Let's go."

"There's an old road that leads right up to it," Ketch called after them. "I'll lead the way."

Dean scowled as the British Man of Letters donned his helmet and climbed onto his motorcycle, but didn't say anything about it as they strode quickly back to the Impala.

"Cas, I know you want to help this angel," he said instead. "But what if he sees you as a threat?"

"I'm not just going to kill him." Castiel slid into the backseat, the Winchesters up front. "I have to do everything in my power to help them."

Dean turned the key in the ignition. "I get that, Cas, I do. But if it comes down to you or them?"

Castiel turned his head to look out the window as Dean steered the Impala out of the lot to follow Ketch's motorcycle. "I know what this angel is going through," he said quietly. "Being hurt, on the run…burning from something evil and contaminating burrowing through his blood."

"Rowena's spell," Sam said in understanding.

Castiel clenched his fists in his lap. "Yes." He turned back to meet Dean's gaze through the rearview mirror. "I- I have to help them."

Dean gave a measured nod. "Okay."

They followed Ketch down the back road for a few minutes before the British Man of Letters slowed to a stop in the middle of the road, forcing Dean to stop as well.

"Don't want to ruin the element of surprise," Ketch explained when they'd all gotten out. "Farm is half a kilometer up the road."

Dean and Sam checked their persons to ensure they were armed with angel blades. Castiel understood the need, but hoped it wouldn't come to that. He'd do everything in his power to make sure it wouldn't.

They made their way up the road until the farm's structures came into view. There were two barns and a smaller shed, all old and rickety. The place was still and quiet, undisturbed.

"I should go in alone," Castiel said.

"Um, how about no," Dean retorted.

Castiel gave him a long-suffering look. "Too many people will only make the angel feel threatened."

Dean's expression tightened with reluctance, but he finally shook his head in acceptance.

Castiel eyed the three structures, and then picked the barn closest to the tree line to check first. It was where he would have hid when he'd been under the attack dog curse, afraid of hurting anyone who might stumble upon him.

Castiel entered cautiously. The air inside the barn was musty, streaming sunlight highlighting the dust motes that hung like fog. Castiel inched forward slowly, wincing when his footsteps crinkled the hay scattered across the floor. A board creaked, and a blurred figure streaked out from a nearby stall. Silver glinted in a shard of light, and Castiel barely had time to whip his blade out and up and catch the one descending toward his chest. Celestial alloy met with a discordant clang and screech. Castiel shoved the attacker away and leaped back a step, holding his arms up and out to the sides in as non-threatening a gesture as possible while still keeping his weapon in hand.

"I'm not here to hurt you," he said, taking in the angel standing before him.

Or, half standing. With one hand bracing herself on a post, the other was white-knuckled around the hilt of her blade. Her blond hair was tied back in a plait, though wild strands were sticking up every which way. There was a sheen of sweat on her brow and her shoulders heaved with ragged breaths. Her eyes were wide and dilated.

Castiel's chest constricted. "Miriam," he breathed.

She snapped her gaze to him, frowning. "How do you know my name?" she wheezed.

"It's Castiel," he said.

Her eyes flashed with confusion, then fear. "Lucifer."

"No, I'm not Lucifer," he insisted, trying to ignore the pang of grief her reaction caused to spear through him. "Lucifer is back in the Cage. Surely you heard."

Her brow furrowed, and she darted her gaze around nervously. "His demons are everywhere," she whispered.

Castiel's heart ached for her. "There was one demon. You killed it. Do you remember? And there was a hellhound? You were bitten." He nodded to her leg, which he could see bore a set of teeth marks tinged with dried blood, and some fresh. She probably reopened the wound every time she fought or ran.

Miriam glanced down, grimacing at the sight.

Castiel risked taking a cautious step forward. "I want to help."

She jerked away from him, raising her blade, and Castiel retreated.

"Miriam, please, I don't mean you any harm."

She wavered, torn between rationale and fever-induced delirium. It didn't help that Castiel wasn't naturally trusted among his brethren. He tried to wait her out, tried to exude nothing but calm and sincerity while Miriam shifted on the verge of flight. He thought he might have been close, too, but then she snapped her gaze to the side as though something had caught her attention, though Castiel hadn't heard anything.

"You lie!" she hissed, and ran for the back door.

"Miriam, wait!" Castiel started after her, and his heart jolted with fear as she ducked right once outside—straight toward the Winchesters. Castiel caught up when she skidded to a stop, now facing three hunters on one side, and an angel she thought was the Devil on the other.

* * *

Dean hated waiting. Especially when stubborn best friends insisted on confronting psychotic angels on their own. But he did get where Cas was coming from. When Cas had been under the attack dog spell and beating the shit out of him, Dean hadn't fought back. He'd never fight back under those circumstances. Because it wasn't Cas trying to hurt him. And if Cas had killed that woman in the warehouse…it wouldn't have been his fault. So yeah, maybe Dean wasn't a fan of angels in general, but he could recognize a victim when he saw one.

He still hated waiting, though.

Ketch looked unperturbed, casually reaching into his pocket and slipping on a set of brass knuckles. There were runes etched into the metal that glowed briefly upon settling into place. Dean narrowed his eyes as he recognized them, remembering that they were capable of giving even an angel a beating.

Ketch caught him looking. "Enochian infused," he said, holding one hand up for inspection.

Sam's brows rose sharply. "Seriously?"

Ketch quirked his mouth. "As I told you before, the British Men of Letters have all the fun toys. This, for example." He pulled out a metal disc the size of a silver dollar with a single ring on the back.

"Nice bling," Dean snorted.

Sam squinted at it. "Is that an angel banishing sigil?"

Dean narrowed his eyes to get a better look. Sure enough, there were small grooves etched in the metal, like a mold.

"Indeed it is," Ketch replied. "Slitting one's palm and painting the wall is so barbaric. Slip this on, and a tiny pinprick draws the required blood to fill the sigil, and then it's simple to activate it." He imitated bringing his other palm up to slap the flat side of the device.

Which, okay, Dean had to admit was pretty handy. "Put that away," he growled instead. "It's no good if you risk banishing your angel allies too."

Ketch shrugged, and slipped the item back in his pocket.

There was a commotion coming from the barn, and Dean stiffened as someone came barreling around from the side. A woman just as the witness earlier had described skidded to a stop, wide-eyed and definitely looking crazed. Her parted lips were bloodless, pallor sickly grey and glistening with sweat. She gripped an angel blade in one hand.

Dean held his palms out. "Whoa, okay."

Cas came running after her. "Miriam, please!" he called. "We're not here to hurt you."

" _Demons_ ," the angel spat. "I won't let you take me."

Oh, this was so not heading anywhere good…

"No!" Cas shouted as she charged forward.

Dean dodged out of the way, drawing his angel blade. He knew Cas didn't want to kill her—and Dean was feeling a pang of sympathy, since she was obviously sick—but he wasn't going to stand by and let her skewer them. Still, Dean kept his distance, as did Sam, both of them trying to give the wounded angel a wide berth.

Ketch, on the other hand, surged forward to meet her head on. She swiped her blade at him, but he ducked under its arc and delivered a right hook to her jaw that sent her crashing to the ground. Dean hoped for her sake she stayed down.

"Miriam," Cas said, attempting to approach. She lashed out with her weapon, making him leap backward.

Then she was rolling to her feet, spittle flying from her mouth. Ketch swooped in to punch her in the kidneys while her back was turned to him. She let out a pained cry and went down onto her knees. Ketch swung again, but she twisted around and threw a palm up. He suddenly flew backward through the air, colliding with a tree and crumpling to the ground.

With an enraged shriek, she whirled back to Cas, brandishing her blade in a mad attempt to land any strike she could. Cas parried, but she was too fast, and he took a slice across his bicep as she bore down on him relentlessly.

Dean darted in with his blade and sliced it across her leg, trying just to wound and distract her so maybe Cas could get the upper hand. She threw her head back and screamed as grace burst from the wound. Dean staggered as some of her true voice screeched through like an ice pick through his ear drums. The distraction cost him, and the next thing he knew, his feet were being lifted off the ground by an invisible punch, and he was soaring through the air. The ground rushed up to meet him, striking with bone jarring force.

Dean rolled with the impact, grunting as he hit a tree trunk. He blinked rapidly to reorient himself, and saw Sam lunge, stabbing the angel high in the shoulder. She screamed again, this time without the accompanying jet engine. But she pivoted around, brandishing her blade. A flash of tan knocked Sam out of the way, and metal clanged together with a discordant screech. Cas lost his balance, though, and Dean watched in horror as Miriam slid her blade free and swung it around, right into Cas's side.

"Cas!" Dean shouted.

Miriam wrenched her weapon free, and Cas dropped. She staggered back, chest heaving with wheezes and obviously losing strength. Her eyes were wide and fever glazed, and full of horror, too far gone battling the phantoms of her hysteria. Her lips started moving, and a moment later Dean heard the deep rumble of Enochian spilling from her mouth.

Cas struggled to push himself up. "Miriam—no!" He sounded terrified, and Dean went rigid as static began tingling up the hairs on the back of his neck.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean spotted Ketch pulling out the banishing device and slipping the ring over his middle finger, settling the disc in the center of his palm.

"No!" Dean shouted at him.

Ketch tossed him a baleful glare. "It's us or them!"

With that, he pressed the disc, and crimson fluid started flowing up from a tiny hole in the center and coursing through the lines. Dean tried to stagger to his feet, to get over there and stop him. But the sigil filled quickly, and Ketch slammed his palms together. The world erupted in a blazing supernova that engulfed them all in a deluge of white-hot light.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and threw an arm up against it. The nova vanished in an instant, though it took his eyes a few seconds longer to blink the spots from his vision. When they did, Dean found himself staring at the empty place psycho angel had been standing only a moment before—and the spot where Cas had been as well.

Sam lurched to his feet, whirling on Ketch. "What did you do?" he demanded.

"What I had to," Ketch replied indifferently as he slipped the banishing device off. "It was attempting to cast a spell. One can only imagine how destructive that might have been had it been allowed to finish."

"You probably just killed her, you know that?" Dean snapped. "She was already hurt, and so was Cas! You might have just killed them both!"

Oh god, Cas had been… Dean's stomach almost revolted. He knew the risk of banishing an angel that was wounded.

Ketch's mouth turned down slightly. "Well, that would solve our problem, then, wouldn't it? Though I do regret possibly losing the other valuable asset."

The valuable… Dean swept forward and threw a sucker punch across Ketch's jaw, which sent him sprawling on the ground. The man blinked up at him dazedly, touching the back of his hand to his split lip.

Sam's shadow fell over him. "Stay down if you know what's good for you."

Ketch didn't say anything, and Dean pivoted sharply to start toward the Impala. They had to find Cas.

Dean broke into a run, his brother on his heels.

* * *

It wasn't until Dean was behind the wheel and peeling back onto the road that he realized he didn't know _where_ to go. Cas could have been blasted anywhere. He may not have even been in the friggin' country anymore. As helpless despair settled in, Dean eased his foot off the gas, letting the Impala drift onto the shoulder. He looked at Sam, who was doggedly tapping away at his phone.

"The GPS on Cas's phone giving off a signal?" Dean asked.

Sam's shoulders were a coiled knot of tension. "No," he said after a moment. "Maybe- maybe his phone broke in the landing."

Dean's stomach tightened. He remembered the night the angels fell, while Sam had been half delirious from the Trials. He remembered balls of flame careening to earth, and the impact explosions from nearby. He imagined Cas falling like that.

"How about reports of meteor landings?"

Sam made a few more taps on his phone, mouth disappearing into a thin line. He slumped back in his seat. "He hasn't been gone that long," Sam said quietly.

Right, and even though they lived in a world of "instant news," it wasn't _instant_ -instant.

Dean looked ahead toward the Interstate. One direction would take them back to the bunker. But if Cas had been blasted the opposite direction, it would take the Winchesters that much longer to get to him. All they knew for certain was Cas wasn't _here_ , which made this the equidistant point from wherever he'd touch down, but at the same time, Dean just couldn't sit here and _wait_. Not when Cas could be hundreds of miles away, hurt and stranded…possibly dying.

"There was a motel half a mile back," Sam spoke up, guessing Dean's thoughts.

He nodded grimly, and pressed the gas again to make a u-turn. It wasn't giving up. It was just regrouping and coming up with a plan.

"We'll find him, Dean," Sam said quietly.

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Yes, they would.

Somehow.

But what if…what if Cas hadn't even crashed down on _land_? What if he'd fallen in the middle of the ocean, just like when Rowena had banished Lucifer? If he was too hurt to make his way back…

"What about Rowena?" Dean blurted. "Maybe she can do a location spell?" He realized he was suggesting the very thing he'd chewed Sam out for doing recently, but dammit, they didn't have a lot of options.

Sam didn't even hesitate before pulling up his contacts and tapping the call button. The other line rang over the speaker.

"Calling for another favor, Samuel?" the familiar Scottish lilt answered. "What mess has your brother gotten into now?"

"We need to know if you can do a location spell for an angel," Dean spoke up.

There was a moment's pause. "Ah, lost your wee pal Castiel, have you?"

"He got banished," Sam said snippily. "Now can you scry for him or not?"

"Oh, I'm sure I could scry for him," Rowena replied. "Shall we say…in exchange for that grimoire you recently acquired?"

"This is not a negotiation," Sam growled.

Rowena made a scoffing sound. "Of course it is, dear. I don't provide services out of the goodness of my heart."

"You're not getting the spell book," Dean snapped. "But we'll owe you another one, okay?"

Rowena hummed. "Fine. I'll conduct the scrying and get back to you." The line clicked as she hung up.

Dean gritted his teeth, and continued toward the motel. It'd probably be a waste to rent a room, only for Rowena to call back in a few minutes and say she'd found Cas. Except she didn't call back after five minutes. Or ten.

They sat in the motel parking lot for almost an hour as the sun started to sink toward the horizon and the battery on Sam's phone tapered down as he continued to scroll through recent news stories across the globe. The search results he was currently looking at suddenly disappeared as an incoming call flashed across the screen. He swiped the talk button frantically.

"And?" he demanded.

Rowena huffed, but instead of saying something snarky in return, there was a brief pause before she said, "I'm sorry, I wasn't able to find him."

Dean's heart lurched. "What do you mean you weren't able to find him?"

"I mean just that. The scrying came up with nothing. Perhaps because he's an angel, or perhaps…" she trailed off.

Dean shook his head. No, he wasn't going to say it. Cas wasn't dead.

"Try again," he snapped.

"I tried three times," Rowena replied. Her voice softened, "Look, I'm sure the feather duster is just fine and cloaked from witches."

Dean and Sam exchanged a look.

"Yeah, sure," Sam said hollowly. "Thanks for trying."

He disconnected, and they sat in silence as dusk descended around them. It'd be cold tonight. In Nebraska, at least. Other places, too, of course, but in others it'd be warmer. Cas wasn't necessarily out somewhere, exposed to the elements.

 _But what if he was?_

Dean felt the weight of crushing defeat bearing down on his shoulders. With no other options at the moment, he and Sam wordlessly got out of the car and went to get that motel room. Because until they knew where to go, they were stuck. Waiting.

* * *

 **A/N: Part II will go up next Wednesday. So, uh, sorry for the waiting! *cough***


	2. Part II

**A/N: Thanks everyone for the reviews, favorites, and follows! And Cruelest Sea and guests Anonymous, Loreley, and anko. I really was sorry for the cliffhanger and a whole week between chapters! Loreley, you're not the only one who would like to see Ketch at least get shot, lol. And since I have a couple fics I want to play with (I think the BMoL might be my new favorite "villains"), it may yet happen...**

* * *

 **"** **Banished** **"**

 **Part II**

Sam hit refresh on his browser's web page for the umpteenth time. Cas had been gone six hours, and still there were no recent reports of meteor landings in the continental US. Granted, articles didn't typically run past midnight. They'd have to wait for morning for the next news cycle to break.

And in the meantime, Sam just kept hitting that refresh button. He'd take a conspiracy theory nut's blog at this point if it'd just tell them _where_ Cas was.

Unless he'd crash landed somewhere isolated, somewhere no one would find him… Sam couldn't let himself go there, though. Not yet. But if they didn't find him soon…

He glanced up at his brother, who kept alternating between checking and cleaning the weapons in their duffel, and getting up to pace the length of the beds. Every so often Dean would drift toward the door, and Sam imagined he was itching to grab a bottle of beer from the Impala's trunk. But Dean would pull himself back and resume his pacing. He'd want to be sober so they could get up and leave at a moment's notice.

They probably should have tried to get some sleep. The news results were still coming up empty, and their phones were on so if Cas found a way to call them, they'd wake instantly at the ringtone.

But neither of them laid down on the bed, too consumed with worry. Sam had seen Miriam stab Cas, and while it'd been done with an angel blade, Cas always seemed to bounce back from stuff like that. Hell, he'd had a block of rock yanked out of his stomach, followed by an angel-killing bullet, and managed to be walking the next day.

But throwing an angel banishing sigil on top of that…Sam didn't know what the effects of that would look like, only what Dean had told him after the incident with Ishim and Lily Sunder. _Wounded angels that were banished might not survive_. Sam wondered why it had never come up before, though maybe because when angels were blown back to Heaven, it was different. Now they bounced off the impenetrable gates and crashed back down to earth.

Sam hit refresh again.

12:21am.

The minutes dragged by with agonizing slowness, and no leads presented themselves.

Dean called Mom at 2:15am, and then quickly apologized for not realizing what time it was. After explaining what had happened, Dean asked her to keep her eyes and ears open. Then he hung up, looking just as dejected and defeated as before.

Sam tried to think if there were any other allies they could turn to. But Crowley's best resource would have been Rowena. Heaven was boarded up, and it wasn't like most angels were fans of Cas's to begin with. Billie was dead…not like she gave anything away for free. Or cheap.

At 5am, Sam's phone rang, and in his haste for news, he failed to register the caller ID before picking up. "Hello?" he answered quickly, anxious to hear Cas's voice on the other end saying he was in a phone booth and asking them to come pick him up.

But it was a British accent that responded instead.

"Sam, Mick Davies," the Man of Letters greeted with a casually chipper air that instantly made Sam clench his fist. "Just wanted to let you know we've confirmed the rogue angel was killed in the banishment. Found its body outside a town in Maine."

Sam was rendered utterly speechless. Those bastards had called to tell them _that_? Dean's worried look and hissed, "Is it Cas?" jolted him out of his stupor.

"It wasn't a 'rogue angel,'" he spat, though that detail was furthest from importance to him at the moment. "So congratulations, your buddy Ketch killed someone who was sick and wounded. Give him a medal."

There was a beat of silence on the other end. "I understand the other angel was banished as well," Mick said hesitantly. "Would you like some assistance in locating him?"

Sam almost told Mick where he could shove his offer of 'assistance,' but paused. "How did you find Miriam so quickly?" Especially if she'd crashed down in Maine.

"Who? Oh, right. Well, we're able to track supernatural disturbances on an atmospheric scale. Only for a general vicinity, of course. The rest is leg work." There was the sound of shuffling paper. "Our instruments detected two phenomena, one across the northeastern seaboard, the second heading toward the central-west. I'm afraid it's not more specific than that."

But it was a direction. Sam shut his laptop and waved for Dean to get their stuff together. His brother was still giving him impatient glares at being left out of the conversation, but Sam would fill him in on the drive.

"Shall I dispatch Mr. Ketch to lend his services?" Mick asked.

"You know what, no," Sam snapped. He didn't want the British Men of Letters anywhere near Cas, and certainly not finding him first if the angel was wounded and weakened. "You've done enough."

Sam almost hung up, but paused long enough to add, "And you might want to keep your distance for a while, because I won't be responsible for what my brother does if he sees you right now." He lowered his voice darkly. "Which will be nothing compared to what I'll do if you come near us or Cas."

Sam didn't wait for Mick's response, but abruptly disconnected and shoved his phone into his pocket.

"Sam?" Dean said, a thread of trepidation underlying his tetchiness.

"Head west," he said. "That's all I got."

Dean didn't waste time hurrying to the car, and they tore out of that place without bothering to properly check out. Sam switched to his phone, once again searching for any recent news stories about meteors or strange sightings that might sound angelic. It wasn't twenty minutes later he finally got a hit.

"I found him!"

Dean whipped his head around. "Where?"

"Felding, Utah." Sam's heart fell. It'd take them twelve hours to get there. He scanned through the article that was reporting a meteorite crash out in a vacant field. An unidentified man had been found in the crater and taken to a local hospital. His condition wasn't specified, but the important thing was Cas was _alive_.

But…if he was okay, wouldn't he have asked for a phone to call them by now? Sam tried not to dwell on that. He couldn't even call the hospital to ask because of patient confidentiality.

Sam dug his laptop out and started putting together documents for Cas—identification, health insurance, etc. He made sure to put it in the name of "Cas Winchester" so Sam and Dean would be admitted once they got to the hospital.

And maybe none of this would be needed. Maybe they'd show up and find Cas ready to walk out and head back to the bunker.

Deep down, though, Sam knew that likely wasn't going to happen…

* * *

Even with Dean pushing the speed limits, they still didn't arrive at the hospital until early evening. They'd had to stop and print the fake documents Sam had drawn up for Cas, and then take the extra time to wipe the buffer in the printer and erase the evidence of what they'd printed. But they were finally there and heading straight for Admitting.

"Excuse me," Dean said when they reached the counter. "We think our brother's been admitted here."

The woman swiveled her chair toward her computer. "Name?"

"He was the guy brought in from the meteor crash."

She withdrew her hands from the keyboard and gave them a suspicious look.

"Six feet, dark hair," Sam jumped in. "He would have been wearing a suit and beige overcoat."

Her mouth turned down. "He didn't have any identification on him…"

Sam pulled out the files. "Here. I grabbed everything we could find when we saw the news. We knew he was up in Felding, but couldn't get a hold of him."

The receptionist took the documents and looked them over, then made a few clacks on her keyboard. Dean leaned forward subtly, trying to get a look at the screen.

"I'll page the doctor to come down and speak with you," she finally said.

Sam tried to keep the reins on his impatience, and nodded gratefully. Cas was here. They'd found him, and he'd be fine…

It took the doctor fifteen minutes to come down, in which time Dean had been pacing anxiously and drawing the eye of the nearby security guard. The receptionist seemed to understand, though. She stood when an older man in a white lab coat with gray hair exited the elevator.

"Dr. Rael, these men are here about your John Doe. They might be his family." She passed Cas's fake driver's license over.

The doctor gave it a quick glance before nodding. "That's him." He turned to the Winchesters. "You're family?"

"He's our brother," Dean answered restlessly. "Is he okay?"

Dr. Rael held his arm out toward the elevator. "Why don't we go have a talk?"

Sam's pulse stuttered. "Please, just tell us."

"It is serious," Dr. Rael said carefully. "I'll explain on the way."

The receptionist held out the stack of documents Sam had given her. "I'll process the insurance and bring that upstairs, okay?" she said.

Sam nodded mutely as he accepted the papers, and then he and Dean followed Dr. Rael to the elevator. Sam's chest constricted more when he watched the doctor punch the button for the floor of the ICU.

The doctor waited for the elevator doors to close before turning to face them. "Your brother was brought in with multiple lacerations and abrasions, some minor burns, and a deep puncture wound in his side. We performed surgery to repair the tear in his stomach, and it was a success."

Sam exchanged a look with Dean; they knew that tone and what came next.

"But he never regained consciousness," Dr. Rael continued. "He's currently in a coma and on a ventilator, as I'm afraid there has been very minimal brain activity." He fell silent just as the elevator slowed to a stop and dinged. The doors slid open.

"Now, it's still early," Dr. Rael said cautiously. "But it has been twenty-four hours. I'm not trying to alarm you, but if things don't change within the next twenty-four…we might have to talk about options."

 _Options_. Sam felt as though he'd been punched in the gut.

"We want to see him," Dean said gruffly.

The doctor nodded, and stepped out of the elevator. "Most of his injuries can be explained by being in that field when the meteor crashed," he went on. "Though rescue personnel apparently didn't see anything that might have caused the puncture wound. Any idea what your brother was doing out there?"

"Cas likes to go for walks," Sam answered. "Nature's calming."

The doctor nodded as he led them past several rooms with other patients. "He did have a badge on him, but his card said 'Agent Beyonce,'" Dr. Rael added, a note of inquiry in his tone.

Sam internally winced. He really should have made Cas a better cover, but the angel had just seemed so proud to have done it on his own, and Sam didn't have the heart to tell him it was bad. But now he was thinking that he needed to do up new cards for Cas that had at least one of their numbers on it as well, in case of situations like this.

Not like they'd ever imagined _having_ to deal with situations like this…

"It's a prop," Dean answered smoothly. "Cas is an actor."

"Ah." Dr. Rael finally came to a stop in front of an open door. "Now, as I said, he's on a ventilator, and hooked up to several machines. It can be jarring, but I assure you, he is otherwise stable."

"Yeah, okay," Sam said, heart rate ratcheting up. He just wanted to get in there.

"I'll give you some time alone," Dr. Rael added. "But I'll be available if you have any questions."

Nodding distractedly, Dean pushed past the doctor first, and Sam followed. They both came to a halt at the sight of the figure lying in the hospital bed. It had been one thing to hear Dr. Rael explain it, and it wasn't like Sam and Dean were strangers to hospitals and machines, but to see _Cas_ the one hooked up to them… 'Jarring' didn't begin to come close.

He was in a white, polka dotted hospital gown, the bedcovers drawn up to only his waist. Tubes and wires stuck out from under his collar where nodes were monitoring his heart. An IV line was attached to the back of one hand, and his mouth was obscured by a huge plastic piece holding an air tube in place. Next to the bed, a ventilator clicked and wheezed with steady, methodically delivered pushes of oxygen. Cas's dark hair was matted against an ashen forehead, and his face and arms were covered in small cuts and bruises that hadn't been there when he'd been fighting Miriam, which meant he must have gotten them in the crash landing.

Sam flicked a horrified look at his brother, and saw Dean's expression equally slack in dismay. Even with their worst fears running through their minds the past twenty-four hours, they hadn't expected to find this. Cas was an angel; he wasn't supposed to need manual oxygen to breathe, or surgery to repair a stab wound. What did his condition say about the state of his grace?

Dean finally moved forward, more cautiously than before, but still resolutely as he sank into one of the chairs beside the bed. Sam spotted another one in the corner and went to drag it over to Cas's other side.

"Remember when Cas used that banishing sigil on himself?" Sam spoke up. "He was in the hospital afterward, and didn't the doctors think he was brain dead then? And he got better."

A muscle in Dean's jaw ticked as he stared at Cas's lax face. "Yeah. Yeah, he bounced back from that."

And a host of other things since. He'd be okay this time, too.

But the rhythmic timing of the ventilator pump was like the raspy ringing of a death knell.

Sam's heart clenched, and he reached out to take Cas's hand. "Cas, hey, Dean and I are here. We found you." He swallowed hard, and gave the cold fingers a light squeeze. "You're, uh, pretty beat up, yeah? Just- just take whatever time you need to heal, okay? Dean and I aren't going anywhere."

The ventilator clicked and wheezed, and the heart monitor continued to beep out a low monotone.

Sam rested his arms on the edge of the bed and leaned closer. "Everything's going to be okay."

* * *

The waiting was killing Dean. He was friggin' relieved they'd found Cas so quickly—not that it had felt quick while they were stuck in the lurch—but the longer Dean had to sit and watch a damn machine breathe for his best friend, the more he was going to go crazy. It was just like with Sam after the Trials. Only this time there was no one to call for help. Cas wasn't human, so Dean didn't think Crowley would be able to do much. At the least, they'd need another angel, but Dean didn't trust any of them. Not after all the times angels had screwed Cas over.

No, they'd have to wait for Cas to pull himself back. He was one tough son-of-a-bitch, and had done it plenty of times before. Yet with each click and whir of the ventilator, Dean had to wonder if this would finally be the thing that Cas wouldn't recover from.

And there was nothing Dean could do about it.

Visiting hours ended, and the nurse came in to tell them they had to leave. Dean completely ignored her. Not even a horde of demons was going to tear him away from this room.

Sam didn't respond to her prodding, either, just kept holding onto Cas's hand as though it could keep the angel from slipping away from them.

The nurse eventually gave up, and in retrospect, Dean supposed they were lucky she hadn't called security to throw them out. Maybe she recognized a losing battle when she saw one.

Maybe she thought Cas wasn't going to last much longer and didn't want him dying alone.

Dean shoved that thought down as far as he could.

Sam eventually fell asleep, his head pillowed on one arm on the side of the bed. Dean pulled out his phone and sent his mom a text letting her know they'd found Cas. It was only after he hit send that he realized it was nearly 2am again. Dammit.

His phone lit up with a return message only two minutes later.

" _Is he okay?_ "

Dean's thumb hovered over the virtual keyboard before he typed his response. " _No_. _He's in a hospital. Coma._ "

" _Need me to come meet you?_ "

Dean's throat grew tight. " _No. Nothin you can do._ "

There was a brief pause between the next message. " _I can be there._ "

Deep down, his heart twinged with a longing Dean rarely let himself feel, ever since that fateful night his mom had died. Having her back hadn't changed his resistance, especially once he realized his memories—or what he thought he remembered—didn't quite match up with the person who'd been abruptly thrust back into their lives.

" _It's okay. You've got a hunt, right? Me and Sam got this. Will keep you updated._ "

Several seconds went by. " _Okay. I love you._ "

Dean put his phone away. He didn't get any sleep that night, though god knew his body needed it. He wasn't as young as he used to be. But he'd sleep once he knew Cas was going to be okay.

Sam woke around seven when the morning nurse came in to check Cas's vitals. She cast them both sympathetic looks as she made some notes on Cas's chart, and then left again.

Sam stretched, popping a few vertebrae with a wince. "You get any sleep?" he asked.

Dean didn't dignify that with a response.

"Right. Um, how about I go find some coffee?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, that'd be good."

Sam flicked a nervous glance at Cas before tearing himself away.

Dean leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs. "Come on, Cas," he said under his breath. "You got this. Nothin' keeps you down for long, right?"

The bruises and cuts that showed no signs of healing stood out in stark contrast to that statement. Dean clenched his fists, anger burbling up out of frustration that had no outlet. He was pissed at Ketch for using that sigil. He was pissed at that angel for not listening when Cas was only trying to _help_ her. And he was pissed that Cas was still so damn stubborn about running to the rescue of his dickhead siblings after all the pain they'd caused him.

Though, it wasn't like Cas did that only for angels. How many times had Dean hurt his best friend, and Cas had still always come when Dean called? He always came back. Even when Dean thought it was impossible.

Sam returned with a tray of two coffee cups and a couple donuts stacked between them. Dean took his portion wordlessly, and Sam settled back in his chair. The pastry tasted dry, though whether it was because it was hospital food or because Dean couldn't get the rancid taste of fear and worry out of his mouth, he didn't know. The coffee, at least, infused a little more energy into his brain.

"Do you think Rowena…?" Sam started, only to trail off.

Dean's jaw tightened. Asking the witch for a locating spell was one thing; asking her to dabble in witchcraft to manipulate Cas's life, maybe even his grace, was something else entirely. She may have helped out a few times in the past, but Dean sure as hell didn't _trust_ her. Though, he probably trusted her more than he did an angel, and wasn't that just sad.

"Let's give Cas a chance first," he replied hoarsely.

Sam nodded, and went back to picking at his donut.

At nine, the doctor came in to 'discuss options,' but Sam abruptly told him that they weren't going to have that conversation, not yet. Dr. Rael had adopted a sympathetic and reasoning tone, to which Sam had snapped that the guy didn't know Cas. The doc had bowed out after that. It surprised Dean how close his little brother seemed to punching someone. Usually Sam was much more understanding.

"Not that I don't agree with you," Dean started, "but I'm not sure it's a good idea to punch out the doctor."

Sam slumped in his chair and crossed his arms sourly. "You got to punch Ketch."

True.

"You can punch him next time." Because as much as Dean hated the thought, he was pretty sure they hadn't seen the last of the British Men of Letters.

Sam let out a soft snort, and they fell silent again. Dean was really starting to hate the beeps and clicks and whooshes of the machines. He'd never liked those sounds, but they were wearing down his already frayed nerves. The worst part was they couldn't even tell if Cas was still _here_. What if…what if this was just Jimmy's body, but Cas was gone?

Thinking of Jimmy brought up thoughts of Claire, and Dean wondered if he should contact her. She and Cas had sorta kinda been growing closer. Dean knew they texted back and forth sometimes. But he didn't have anything definitive to tell her, and what was the point in making her worry? Dean was doing plenty of that for the both of them.

Feeling restless, he reached under the bed to pull out the bag of Cas's clothes and possessions he'd had on him when brought into the emergency room. The dress shirt was a total loss, having been cut off, as were the slacks. But those were easily replaced. The suit jacket and overcoat were filthy, yet Dean thought Cas could probably patch them up once his grace was recharged. Or at the very least, Dean could get the stains out. He had plenty of practice with that, after all.

Cas's fake FBI creds were in there as well, along with his phone, which was broken, the screen a shattered mess. Dean would have to buy him a new one.

The beeping on the monitor suddenly changed, a high-pitched blip that jumped above the monotonous baseline. Then again. Dean's heart leaped into his throat, but the monitor didn't flatline like he was afraid of; instead, the rhythm increased rapidly, and Cas's eyelids fluttered open.

"Cas?" Dean blurted. The son-of-a-bitch did it.

Cas blinked groggily a few times, but then his eyes flew wide and he lashed a hand up to claw at his mouth. The monitors went crazy with alarms.

"Cas!" Dean surged forward and grabbed his hand, wrenching it away from the tube. "Look at me. Look at me!" Dean clasped his other hand around the side of Cas's neck, squeezing firmly. "You're in a hospital. You're okay. I'm right here, I got you. Just look at me."

Sam had run from the room, shouting for a nurse. Dean didn't move. Cas locked eyes with him, pupils dilated with panic and chest practically heaving.

"It's okay, man, it's okay. There's a tube in your throat to help you breathe. Sam's getting the doctor and they'll take it out, I promise. Just look at me."

Cas stared back at him, obviously freaking out, but as Dean held his gaze, his struggles slowly eased. Footsteps rushed in from behind, and the doctor came around the other side of the bed.

"Mr. Winchester, my name is Dr. Rael. I know it's disorienting, but if you can calm down, we need to check your oxygen levels before we can get that tube out, alright?"

Cas shot a terrified look at the doctor, and Dean squeezed the side of his neck to draw his attention back.

"I got you." _You trust me?_

Cas gave a small, jerky nod.

"If you could step back," Dr. Rael said to Dean.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, not taking his eyes from Cas's, making that promise to his best friend. He did, however, shift his position from holding Cas down so the doctor could get in there.

The nurse wedged herself around Dean to get at the ventilator, and on the doctor's instructions, started decreasing the rate of oxygen flow. Cas's eyes never left Dean's as the nurse monitored his vitals in response to the weaning.

"Alright, looks good," Dr. Rael said, and unhooked the tube at the mouth piece. The nurse removed the lengthy tube and pushed the ventilator aside, then pressed a button on the bed to raise it a few inches.

"I'm removing the tube," Dr. Rael said, and then he deftly pulled it out.

Cas coughed violently as he was extubated, and Dean winced with sympathy. The nurse was there with a cup of water, which Dean took from her.

"Easy, easy." He braced Cas's head for him to sip some of it.

Cas's face scrunched up and he nearly hacked it up again, but then he collapsed back against the pillow, breathing raggedly and grimacing in apparent pain.

Sam pressed himself up beside Dean, reaching out to touch the lump of Cas's knee under the blanket. "Cas, hey."

Cas pried his eyes open to gaze up at them blearily, and while there was still confusion, the fear was dissipating.

"Can you tell me your name?" Dr. Rael asked.

Cas flicked a wary look at him, then back at Dean and Sam, as though looking for cues.

"They just wanna check you know who you are," Dean reassured him.

Cas licked his lips. "Cast- Cas," he rasped, voice hoarse from the intubation.

"Who's the president?"

Cas's brow pinched. "The president of what?"

Dr. Rael's mouth quirked. "Of America."

Cas hesitated, and Dean really hoped he wasn't going to say 'Lucifer.'

"Jefferson Rooney," he finally croaked, and reached a hand up to rub his throat.

The doctor nodded. "Your throat will be sore for a bit. Do you remember what happened?"

Again, Cas looked to Dean and Sam, and shook his head.

"You were in a field when a meteorite struck," Dr. Rael explained.

Cas blinked slowly. "How…unlucky," he said, an uncertain inflection in his tone.

"Actually," the doctor replied, "you're very lucky to be alive. You have a host of contusions and abrasions, but also a deep wound in your side, though we're unsure what exactly caused it."

Cas's hand drifted down to his stomach, and he winced.

"You've been in a coma for the past two days," Dr. Rael went on. "And I must say, your sudden revival is quite the unexpected feat. We'll run some tests, make sure everything is in working order."

"I'm fine," Cas said abruptly, sounding more gravelly than normal but with a trace of that authoritative angel-of-the-lord. Too bad it was belied by another grimace and him barely being able to lift his head off the pillow.

"Still, better to be safe," Dr. Rael said, as though he were used to dealing with obstinate patients. "I'll get the tests ordered." With that, he and the nurse excused themselves.

Cas threw Dean and Sam a worried look. "What happened?" he wheezed, and Dean hated how weak he sounded. But he was conscious, and _breathing_ , and that was a massive improvement.

"Miriam started trying to cast some kind of spell," Sam said in a low voice.

Cas nodded. "I remember that." He winced and rubbed at his throat.

Dean picked up the cup of water and held it to his lips again. "That bastard Ketch used an angel banishing sigil. Took us a whole day to find where you'd been blasted to, but we did."

Cas's brow furrowed, and then his eyes widened. "Miriam?"

Dean almost shook his head; of course Cas would be concerned about her.

Sam gave him a sad look. "I'm sorry, Cas, she didn't make it."

"Are you sure?" he rasped. "Perhaps she was found and brought to a hospital…"

"We found where she landed," Sam interrupted gently.

Cas squeezed his eyes shut under a swell of grief.

"You did everything you could," Dean said, not wanting Cas to feel even remotely guilty over this. It was Ketch's fault, not theirs.

"She wasn't evil," Cas whispered.

"We know," Sam said softly.

Cas shifted, and his face screwed up in pain.

"You're gonna be okay, right?" Dean asked. "Your mojo going to kick in eventually?"

Cas seemed to force his eyes open, and nodded. "I just need to rest, but I'll recover."

"Okay, good." Dean finally let himself feel the full measure of relief he'd been tentatively holding back since Cas had opened his eyes. He patted Cas's shoulder. "Then you rest."

"Not here. Where are my clothes?" Cas tried to sit up, only to let out a pained grunt and fall back again.

"Dude, you can't even walk," Dean chided. "And you just came out of a coma. Relax, Sam's a genius with the insurance papers. You're good to stay here a bit longer."

"I don't want to stay here," Cas retorted almost petulantly. "I want to go home."

Dean couldn't help but quirk his mouth a fraction. But it also filled him with a strong sense of pride and relief that Cas now thought of the bunker as home. Because Dean remembered what that douche Ishim had said, about Cas having no wings, no home. It wasn't true, and it had eaten at Dean after that, hoping his best friend didn't really buy into it. He was glad to hear the confirmation.

"It's a twelve-hour drive back to the bunker," Dean said. "And you've still got a hole in your gut. Don't even think of trying to deny it," he added pointedly.

Cas leveled an unamused glare at him. "I don't want the doctors running tests. I'm an angel, remember?"

Dean smirked, but took a moment to eye Cas critically. He definitely didn't look up to a lengthy haul, but hey, he'd just gone from coma to awake and talking in thirty seconds flat. Dean glanced at his brother.

Sam's mouth was pressed in a thoughtful line, and he shrugged one shoulder. "I mean, who knows what the tests will show. We probably don't want to pique the doctor's curiosity."

True.

"Alright," Dean said. "We'll bust you outta here."

Cas sagged against the mattress. "Thank you."

"I'll go find a wheelchair," Sam said.

"And some scrubs," Dean added, throwing an apologetic look back at Cas. "Your clothes are kind of a mess."

Cas dropped his gaze to his hospital gown. "Oh."

Sam leaned over to give his hand one last squeeze. "You're in one piece, and that's all that matters." He turned to head for the door.

"Thank you," Cas spoke up again, this time more quietly, but it was enough to draw Sam to a stop as he looked back. Cas lifted his eyes first to Sam, then to Dean. "For finding me."

There was a lot of weight behind that statement, a lot of history where the Winchesters had failed to do exactly that. But Dean couldn't let himself dwell on past mistakes. The guilt would crush him if he let it.

He reached out to clasp Cas's shoulder. "We'll always find you." _We'll always bring you home_.

A small smile graced Cas's face, and he closed his eyes in rest. Dean turned his head to meet Sam's gaze of solidarity. Time to do exactly that.


	3. Part III

**A/N: Because a few people asked really nicely for one more chapter, here's a special treat! Fair warning, though, if you were hoping for fluff…remember this is me. So, um, angst. ;P But still plenty of additional h/c and feels!**

 **Thanks to Miyth for providing feedback on the first draft. It can be challenging weaving in an unplanned piece cohesively.**

* * *

 **"** **Banished** **"**

 **Part III**

Castiel watched as Dean flipped off the alarms on the vitals' monitors with a well-bred familiarity that probably came from the Winchesters sneaking out of hospitals before. Once the nurses wouldn't be alerted to any fiddling, Dean began methodically and skillfully removing all the nodes stuck to Castiel's skin and the IV cannula in his hand, making the process much more quick and efficient than if Castiel had attempted it himself. Because as adamant as he was about leaving the hospital, he wasn't actually in the best shape to do so.

He could barely sit up on his own, let alone walk. When Sam returned with a wheelchair and pair of sweats and a hoodie, he and Dean had to help Castiel get into the clothes, which was a somewhat mortifying experience. Castiel hated being reduced to such helplessness.

But his dislike of hospitals was stronger, and so he stoically endured Sam and Dean helping him slide his legs over the side of the bed and into the sweat pants before shrugging out of the itchy hospital gown. Dean helped him get his arms through the sleeves of the hoodie so he wouldn't have to stretch too much and pull at his stomach wound. Then the Winchesters were slipping socks over his bare feet, but not shoes. He wouldn't be walking much anyway.

Castiel winced as they then helped him limp the two feet to the wheelchair. His limbs were shaking now, to his aggravation.

Dean snatched the pillow off the hospital bed and passed it to Castiel. "Here, hold this."

He furrowed his brow. "Why?"

"We'll need it for the car."

Castiel wasn't sure how he felt about stealing a pillow, but he wasn't given an opportunity to argue as Sam took up position behind the wheelchair and Dean moved to the door to peek out. With a silent wave, he signaled the coast was clear.

Sam pushed Castiel out into the hall. Dean walked a few paces ahead, keeping an eye out for the doctor or nurse who might object to his release. They passed many rooms filled with patients, and Castiel let his gaze rove passively over the family members sitting vigil by bedsides, or those out helping their ill loved ones shuffle at a snail's pace down the hall because they couldn't walk on their own. Just like Castiel, at the moment.

But he had his own family looking out for him, and he let himself sink further into the wheelchair, secure with Dean's presence in front and Sam's behind.

They didn't take the closest elevator on the floor, but went around to the other side of the wing to use one near a different department. Castiel gritted his teeth as the wheelchair juddered over the door tracks. His grace was still too flayed from the banishing to provide any measure of healing at this point, and though he had assured the Winchesters he'd recover, he actually didn't know _when_ that would be.

When the elevator dinged on the first floor, Sam and Dean picked up their pace just a little, heading straight for the exit. There were more tracks at the sliding doors, and Castiel couldn't help but groan as he was jostled over them.

"I'll get the car," Dean said, and veered off.

Sam pushed Castiel a little further down the sidewalk so they were away from the main traffic of people getting dropped off and picked up. Castiel couldn't believe how exhausted he was when he'd barely moved himself at all, but he was steadily slumping sideways in the wheelchair.

Sam patted his shoulder. "You can lay down soon."

It was nearly ten minutes before the rumble of the Impala disrupted the otherwise monotone stream of hospital visitors and staff. Dean pulled up alongside the curb directly in front of them, and left the engine running as he hopped out and came around to open the back door. Castiel was surprised to find the backseat padded down with blankets.

Dean took the stolen pillow from him and leaned in to fluff it up against the opposite door. Then he gripped Castiel's hand and helped him rise shakily from the wheelchair. Castiel pretty much stumbled into the Impala, dragging himself fully in to collapse against the pillow. He was now glad Dean had thought to grab it.

Sam went to return the wheelchair, and Dean retrieved another blanket from the front seat, which he spread out over Castiel.

"You good?"

Castiel nodded gratefully. In truth, he hadn't given much thought to what the ride back in the car would be like, but this was much better than what he'd been envisioning, and he didn't feel quite so ready to pass out anymore.

Dean slammed the back door closed, and Castiel tracked his reflection in the rearview as he made his way around to the driver's side.

"Nuh-uh," Sam called, jogging back over. "I'm driving. You've been up for over forty-eight hours."

Castiel frowned at that news, even more so when Dean didn't even put up an argument before changing direction and coming around to the front passenger side instead while Sam slid behind the wheel.

"Dean," he said with concern, "you haven't slept?"

"Yeah, well, you were sleeping enough for the both of us," Dean replied nonchalantly. "I'll catch some z's on the drive."

Castiel thought about that for a moment, and the implications. "I'm sorry I worried you," he said quietly.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look before both twisted around to face him.

"It wasn't your fault," Sam said. "But I am making you up a new FBI cover—with business cards that have our numbers on them in case something happens."

Oh, that sounded like a good idea. Why would he need a new cover for that, though?

Dean rapped his knuckles on the side window and waved impatiently at Sam to pull out into traffic. "Homeward bound, let's go."

Castiel squinted as images from Metatron's movie download flitted through his mind. "Am I supposed to be the cat in that analogy?"

Dean quirked a confused look over his shoulder. "What?"

Sam barked out a laugh. "Um, yeah, Cas, I kinda think you are."

"Dude, what cat?"

"The movie Homeward Bound, about the two dogs and cat lost in the wilderness and trying to make their way home," Sam explained.

Dean shot his brother a dry look. "Really, Sam?"

Sam just continued to grin. "The cat went over a waterfall and was separated from the dogs."

"Although," Castiel added, "the cat found her way back to the dogs on her own."

The brothers were silent for a beat, exchanging an unreadable look with each other.

"Yeah," Dean said, somewhat more soberly. "You're the cat."

Castiel furrowed his brow, but brushed the comment aside. "I'm not sure which of the dogs you two are supposed to be," he went on. "You both possess qualities from both."

"Uh, thanks?" Dean replied.

Sam shook his head in apparent amusement. "True. I mean, Dean's older, so he could be Shadow, but he's definitely got the immaturity of Chance."

"Hey!"

"You don't even know who I'm talking about," Sam scoffed.

"You're talking about _dogs_."

"If we were to make a comparison purely on physical attributes," Castiel mused, "Sam would be the Golden Retriever, Dean would be the Pit Bull, and I would be the cat, since I am a different species."

Sam's brow scrunched up. "Uh, okay."

Dean snorted. "It's the hair, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes. "You know what, we should all watch it when we get back to the bunker."

Dean let out an exaggerated groan. "Okay, enough. I'm gonna get my four hours now." With that, he shrugged out of his jacket and balled it up into a makeshift pillow, pointedly turning away from Sam and wriggling into a comfortable position against the passenger door.

Sam continued to smirk, but then shifted his gaze to the rearview mirror. "You wanna try and get some sleep too, Cas?"

"Alright," he replied slowly. He was rather tired. But even so, sleep did not come readily.

His matter-of-fact statement about being a different species had stirred up thoughts of angels—and subsequently Miriam. Castiel's sister, or at least one of his kind. She had been as lost and hurt as Sassy in that film, but instead of stumbling upon a kind-hearted man willing to nurse her back to health, she had been hunted by Ketch. Because she wasn't human, and didn't deserve the same consideration a human victim would. Not in the eyes of the British Men of Letters, anyway.

Not in the eyes of hunters in general. Because if it hadn't been for Castiel's insistence, the Winchesters—or Dean, at least—would have treated Miriam like any other monster case. Something to hunt. But when it came to Castiel, he had warranted a sleepless vigil, tender patience, and gentle care. Things angels didn't typically give to each other in the first place, but Castiel had learned what family meant from the Winchesters, and had wanted to be able to do that for Miriam. She deserved better.

"What did you do with Miriam's vessel?" Castiel asked quietly, mindful of Dean now asleep up front.

Sam flicked him a questioning look in the mirror. "What?"

Castiel shifted, trying to sit up a little straighter. "You said you found her. What did you do with her vessel's body?"

Sam rolled his shoulder. "Um, we didn't find her, personally," he said, sounding regretful. "The British Men of Letters did. They called to tell us she didn't survive."

Castiel's stomach clenched at the thought of those unscrupulous men desecrating Miriam's memory. There would be no honor in the way they probably burned her empty vessel to erase any evidence of her existence, as if she meant nothing in the first place.

"I'm sorry, Cas," Sam said.

He shook his head, closing his eyes against the swell of moisture prickling behind them. So many angels had been snuffed out over the past several years. Some at his own hands, some because he was too weak to stop it, but always he had only ever wanted to help his family. Why could he never get that one thing right? Even now, when most angels hated him, he had tried to help—and failed. Castiel wondered how many more of his brothers and sisters he would have to mourn before his heart shattered completely.

He must have fallen asleep after all, because the next time he opened his eyes, the sun was much higher in the sky above the Impala. Castiel's back was twinging, and he shifted, trying to relieve the ache, but that only made his injuries protest with lances of fire. Had his grace not recharged at all? Every bruise seemed to throb, making it impossible to find a position that alleviated even a hint of the pain.

"Cas, hey," Sam spoke up. "You doin' okay?"

He tried to push himself up onto his elbows, but sucked in a sharp gasp as pain exploded in his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to focus on breathing through it.

"Hang on, man, I'll pull over."

Castiel wanted to tell him he didn't need to, but he currently didn't have the breath to speak. Perhaps it had been foolish to leave the hospital.

Dean made a small snort as he jolted awake from the Impala slowing down to take an exit for a rest stop. "We there already?" he mumbled.

"No," Sam replied. "Cas needs a break."

Castiel bristled at being blamed for the detour, though he didn't know why it bothered him.

Dean turned around in his seat to give him a worried look. "Crap, I should've thought to grab some painkillers. I don't know if we have enough to actually work on you, but wanna try?"

Castiel shook his head. He wouldn't deplete their supplies when he couldn't be certain it would work. Besides, pain was nothing new to him, and once he concentrated, he could feel his grace weakly stirring, the singed edges slowly regenerating. It would be a while yet before he could mend his vessel, but there _was_ progress.

Sam brought the Impala to a stop, and then he and Dean were exiting the vehicle and opening the back door. Castiel really didn't want to move, but neither could he stay still, the pain in his joints becoming unbearable. So when Dean reached a hand in, Castiel took it, and simply clenched his jaw as he scooted across the seat, trying to force down the pain and weakness by sheer will alone.

He was still only wearing socks, but he wasn't planning on walking that far. Or at all, really. Turned out his knees had locked, and his first step out of the car pitched him forward into Dean. Castiel grunted as the hunter caught him, and then helped him shift so he could brace himself against the rim of the door. Castiel drew in a harsh breath through his nose, then another. Though it made him dizzy, being upright was a surprising relief to the rest of his aching body.

Sam grabbed a water bottle from the trunk, and uncapped it before passing it over. Castiel took a tentative sip, then drank greedily when he realized his throat was actually parched.

Sam was eyeing him carefully. "Maybe we should find a motel for the night."

Dean pulled out his phone and started thumbing through something on the screen. "Wow, you made good time. We're only about two hours from the bunker."

"Dean," Sam said in a low voice. "I think we've reached our max."

"No, I'll manage," Castiel ground out, and handed the bottle back. Then he started inching his way back to the seat so he could sit down again. Sam gripped his elbow to help.

"Cas, come on. There's no reason to push yourself."

"I don't want to cause you an inconvenience," he muttered. "Neither of you have gotten much sleep lately." Because of him. He'd been touched by the knowledge earlier, so why did it prick at his guilt now? "You should sleep in your own beds tonight."

Sam heaved a decidedly patient look at him. "It's not an inconvenience, Cas. This is what you do for family."

Castiel thought about all the times he'd shown weakness or vulnerability in Heaven, whether physically after a battle, emotionally after losing a fellow sister or brother, or mentally when he'd admitted to having doubts. Never had he not been told to soldier on and banish any further inclinations of feelings, lest he be punished severely. Never when he had tried to show love and loyalty to his angelic brethren was it received with open arms and gratitude.

Castiel couldn't keep his shoulders from slumping dejectedly and uttering, "Not among angels."

"Yeah, well, they're all dicks," Dean spoke up. "We've established that."

Castiel lifted a pained gaze to Dean, because he had heard that so many times for _years_ , and for some reason in this moment, it broke something inside him. "Then why do you stick with me?" he rejoined bitterly. "If I'm such a dick?"

Dean blinked at him in surprise. "What? That's not what I said."

"Yes, it is. That's what you always say. 'Angels are dicks.' I'm an angel. Are you unable to put two plus two together?"

Dean's brows shot upward.

"Um, Cas," Sam interjected quickly. "Dean doesn't mean anything by it. You know that, right?"

Castiel shot a glare up at the younger Winchester for his patronizing tone. "It does mean something. It means that even though you call me family, I'm still not one of you. I will never truly be one of you." Not even when he'd been human and finally 'of the same species.'

"How can you say that, after everything?" Dean said, sounding hurt. As if he had the right to be the wounded party here.

A muscle in Castiel's jaw ticked, and he turned his head away, wishing he hadn't said anything at all. Pain and exhaustion were doing nothing to maintain his usual stolid filter.

"I'm sorry," he bit out. "Let's just go."

"Actually, I think we need to talk about this," Dean argued.

"Why? You never like to talk about things."

Sam shot his brother a warning look, then crouched down in the open door so he was eye level with Castiel. "Cas, where is this coming from?" he asked in a gentler tone than his brother. "You know you're family to us. That we would do anything for you."

Castiel shook his head, and reached a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "I do know that, Sam." He flicked an apologetic look at him and then up at Dean. "And I'm grateful, I am. But…"

"How can there be a 'but' in there?" Dean demanded harshly, earning another reprimanding glare from Sam.

Castiel heaved a heavy sigh, wincing as it tugged his wound. He leaned sideways against the backseat to hold himself up. That flash of anger he'd initially felt had quickly dissipated, leaving him feeling drained and hollowed out. "It's not the same as belonging."

Sam's brow creased in confusion.

"You wanna talk not being able to put two and two together?" Dean retorted. "How is that not the same?"

Castiel gazed up at him wearily. "Sometimes I don't understand how you see me, Dean—as one of them or one of you. Most hunters would view me as _other_ ; the British Men of Letters have made that quite clear. And the angels feel the same, claiming I'm too close to humanity and not really an angel anymore. Maybe they're right. But it means I don't truly fit…no matter the sentiment."

Sam exchanged a look with Dean, both of them silent. Castiel regretted ruining the peace they'd managed to achieve after the incident with Ishim and Lily Sunder, although it did feel a little bit good to finally get that out. He'd been carrying it around for years.

Dean shifted, cocking his head at Sam. The younger Winchester stood up and moved back, giving Dean space to crouch down in front of Castiel. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Okay, I'm sorry."

Castiel stared at him incredulously.

Dean reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck. "You're not a dick, Cas. Truth is you're a better angel than any of them will ever be. And I'm not blind. I've noticed how those British bastards look at you. Next time we run into them and they so much as glance at you sideways, I will shoot them in the face."

Castiel huffed in exasperation at the impracticality of such a declaration, but Dean was barreling on.

"But you are my best friend, my brother, and that's all I need for you to belong. I…I don't know what you need to make that the same for you."

Castiel's heart twinged at Dean's sincerity and wrecked tone, and he swallowed against a spiky lump gathering in his throat. "I don't know what I need, either," he admitted. That was something he'd been searching for ever since he'd chosen to stand by humanity—and fall by them. "But know that you and Sam are my family, too. And I do see the bunker as my home, with you there."

Dean gave him a wan smile. "That's something, then, isn't it?"

Castiel nodded. To him, it was everything.

"Okay," Dean said after a long moment, and patted his knee. "Ready to get back on the road toward home?"

"Yes."

Sam's face scrunched up in displeasure. "Cas, are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he replied. He still winced as he scooted further back on the seat, but the pain of his injuries seemed a little less now. Or maybe it was the releasing of a burden he had borne for so long in silence and solitude.

Castiel settled against the pillow as the Winchesters climbed in up front again, this time Dean behind the wheel.

"Let us know if you need another break," Dean said seriously. "We're in no rush."

Castiel nodded. He supposed he could do that. Though, he was feeling very tired again, like he could potentially sleep for the rest of the drive anyway.

"Hey, Cas," Sam spoke up.

"Hm?"

"In that movie…even though the cat was a different species, it still belonged with the two dogs."

Castiel's lips tugged upward as his eyelids slid closed. "Yes, it did," he murmured.

Dean let out an audible breath. "Guess we are watching it when we get home," he grumbled, but it didn't sound annoyed. It sounded warm and steady, just like the lullaby of the Impala's engine wrapping them all in a safe, familiar embrace.

And maybe that, plus open and vulnerable honesty without fear of repercussion for the first time in his life, was all Castiel needed to start to realize that he did, in fact, belong there. With them.


End file.
